


The Heir to Mandalore

by GhostFalcon



Series: Nothing But Star Wars [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bounty Hunters, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Romance, F/M, Mandalorian Civil War, Minor References to 'Master and Apprentice', Murder Mystery, On the Run, Pre-Phantom Menace, Slow Burn, Team Bonding, The Year On Mandalore, This Will Have a Bitter-sweet Ending I'm SORRY, Undercover Missions, awkward teenagers, kind of?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostFalcon/pseuds/GhostFalcon
Summary: Mandalore is divided and Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his Jedi Apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, must protect its one hope... Who someone clearly wants to see dead.
Relationships: Bo-Katan Kryze & Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Satine Kryze
Series: Nothing But Star Wars [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/371348
Comments: 38
Kudos: 71





	1. Guardians of Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of each chapter, I'll be posting the song that I listened to/inspired the chapter, because I always like creating "mood" playlists for whatever I'm writing. Enjoy!

The morning sunlight glittered through the floor-length windows that illuminated the Jedi temple, encapsulating it with natural light. Outside, traffic was as busy as ever with an urgency that trickled down to even the lowest of layers on Coruscant. It was especially bright in the Jedi council chambers; a place that Obi-Wan didn’t often get to spend time in without accompaniment of his Jedi Master. Of course, this wasn’t supposed to be one of those instances either, for Qui-Gon Jinn was simply running tremendously late.

This left the nineteen year old Padawan learner alone at center stage in front of the most renowned Jedi Masters in the galaxy. In silence. Even though he was considerably certain that they were not called before the council to be chastised, Obi-Wan could not help the slight unease at having so many serious stares on him. Based on that alone, the conversation wasn’t likely to be much fun. 

The only one that didn’t seem maudlin was Master Yoda, who usually had a curious look of amusement dancing across his features. Perhaps his extra centuries of experience broadened his perspective. It was likely how he was able to work so often with children too.

“At his own time, your Master operates, hm?” He said.

“He should be here any minute, Master.” Obi-Wan answered politely.

 _“I hope.”_ He thought.

It was well-known that Qui-Gon and the council rarely saw eye-to-eye. That was putting it nicely, actually. For as much as Obi-Wan did due diligence to follow the rules, that was increasingly difficult when he had a Master that did not take such precautions if he felt the rules got in the way of doing what he believed was right. 

Obi-Wan could see the importance of both. If it was between a life and the rules, there was no choice to make. However, sometimes it felt like Qui-Gon _tried_ to push the council’s buttons. 

Like now.

He tried to find the inner calmness that Qui-Gon had been training him to reach for in times of strife. It was always important for a Jedi to be grounded to the moment, but sometimes that required reaching within and making your own peace. 

The more time he spent with his Master, the more effective he found his methods. Sure, Master Yoda always said that fear led to hate, which ultimately led to the dark side of the force. Therefore, Jedi were not to fear. However, in response to this, Qui-Gon sagely said, _“But everyone fears, Obi-Wan. The difference lies in how a Jedi handles it.”_

It was not about resisting the feeling of fear, but combating it with the opposite of fear. Hope.

And right now, Obi-Wan hoped the council wouldn’t scorch his Master for being so brazen in his tardiness. 

“Why is he late?” Master Piell asked. 

“The word ‘late’ implies that he’s coming at all.” Master Rancisis huffed. 

“He will be here.” Obi-Wan tried again, but even he was growing doubtful of that. 

As for the explanation behind his Master’s lack of prudence, Obi-Wan didn’t have one. He had his suspicions that it was related to the bounty hunter that was taking prey on public officials. The very same one that the council said had nothing to do with Jedi affairs. The senate asked the Jedi stay out of it, but that was too big of a request for Qui-Gon Jinn, who felt that this bounty hunter may be force sensitive. 

That was a detail that Obi-Wan knew he should not bring up in today’s meeting, particularly when they were already stewing at having to wait for Qui-Gon. 

Just as Master Windu was about to voice his own complaint about the disrespect of the situation, in came Master Jinn without so much as a glimmer of sweat that one would have if they’d rushed to the chambers. 

He had the good sense to do a slight jog to the center of the room to be beside his Padawan and if Obi-Wan could shoot him a look, he would, but instead let his lack of acknowledgement speak volumes. 

“Nice it is of you to join us, Master Qui-Gon.” Yoda said.

“Dare we ask for your reasoning?” Mace Windu asked with a hint of warning exasperation.

“Oh, my apologies, Master, but traffic was terrible.” Qui-Gon said with that air of casualness that bothered many a Master so many times. 

“It, that is?” Master Yaddle asked.

“It is rush hour.” He added, though Obi-Wan doubted anyone was really falling for that. However, today the council seemed far too busy to be goaded into one of his Master’s actual tale, which would no doubt be infinitely longer. 

Predictably, Mace Windu sighed in defeat, “We did call you two here for a reason, believe it or not. And that reason is we have an assignment that requires your services.”

“Deliver food rations to the Mandalorian system, you will.” Yoda said.

Obi-Wan bit back a gasp. The Mandalorian system refused to join the Republic due to their determination to dominate the entire galaxy. Not to mention, they were no fans of the Jedi. History spoke volumes on that truth.

He could not fathom any possibility where Mandalore would reach out to them for help like this. Judging by the fact that the council requested he and his master, specifically, Obi-Wan guessed that they did not, in fact, send for such help.

“Does the senate know of this?” Qui-Gon asked and to his credit, was completely nonplussed.

“All of our council meetings are on the record.” Master Windu said, “You must be careful not to take a side here. The Mandalorians are on the brink of civil war yet again. We are just offering rations as a good will gesture.”

“Remind them, of potential Republic aid this must.”

Qui-Gon nodded with a glint in his eyes. Obi-Wan could sense curiosity emanating off of his Master through their bond. He knew that this was not going to be any simple missionary trip. It never was with his Master and given their location, it couldn’t be even if the council tried to restrain them.

Master Yoda’s stare was also very curious. He was excellent at not giving much away, but Obi-Wan had known and trained under Yoda for most of his life and could recognize some minor patterns. The way he leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands in contemplation- for one thing.

Master Windu was much more iron-tight in his facial expressions, but somehow looked wary nonetheless. Every other Jedi Master in the room had a lot more to say, but didn’t.

They didn’t expect it to be a simple missionary retreat either.

* * *

Little else was addressed in session and when it was adjourned, Obi-Wan was more than eager to pry for real details from his Master, if he had any. Instead, he was ordered to go research the history of Mandalore in the library.

He resisted the urge to huff in response, because Qui-Gon knew by now that Obi-Wan had top marks in his history class, which obviously covered the tumultuous relationship between the Mandalorians and the Jedi. This was obviously a tactic to get Obi-Wan away while the masters had a chat about the real purpose of the mission.

It was no matter, really. Obi-Wan quite liked the library. It was quiet and the less mature padawans rarely hung around, which kept him from their incessant goading about how strange Qui-Gon was. It was to no secret even to them that Master Qui-Gon Jinn was unlike any other master they’d ever known.

Master Jocasta Nu was also a welcome presence. She was likely in her late 50’s in standard years and had much wisdom to offer. The trick was being willing to listen, which Obi-Wan found by experience that many younger padawans were not. To his credit, he was not either just a few years ago.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi! I’m sure you’ve read every book on Mandalorian history by now.” She smiled warmly at him.

There was something perpetually maternal about her that he could not name. He did not have much experience on that feeling, of course, but he could assume how it was supposed to feel.

“Yes, Master Nu, but we’ve got a new mission and it can’t hurt to brush up on some ancient lore.”

She nodded, “Just be sure to keep your eyes forward instead of behind you. Many things have changed about the galaxy since the history books were written.”

He’d grimaced. The holonet displayed Mandalore’s plight every now and then, but it tended to get pushed to the wayside. The general gist was this: they were in disagreement and were fighting amongst themselves over whether or not they should fight the rest of the galaxy. It was not notorious for being the most civilized system out there.

Still, he thanked her for the book and went to his usual table, which to his confusion, was occupied by an unfamiliar face. Neither of these occurrences should have been considered rare. There were plenty of Jedi that Obi-Wan didn’t know given there were a good 10,000+ of them out there. Also, it wasn’t technically _his_ table anyway. Any person was entitled to sit there.

But whether she liked it or not, she stood out. He could not read her force signature or whether she even noticed him yet. Her eyes were turned down to a book of her own so all he really had any exposure to was the blonde ringlets that fell to her shoulders.

“Excuse me?” He wasn’t sure what compelled this girl from her studies. He wasn’t the most boisterous person out there nor would he like it very much if she’d done the same to him.

He almost regretted it even more when her head lifted and she cast a disapproving stare at him with eyes that looked and pierced through him like ice. Her nose was thin and her skin almost as white as snow. She had small pink lips that were turned into an unimpressed frown. Her hands were crossed and overall she looked incredibly regal- something most Jedi did not have time to achieve.

“Yes?” She said, impatience at the edge of her tone.

In her defense, he was probably staring at her like an idiot. He hoped she did not misconstrue it as gawking, but he was certain that she absolutely was not a Jedi, which made him question many things, but namely what in the force she was doing in the archives.

“Um…” He didn’t know how to go about the conversation, because while intimidating-looking, she didn’t seem innately harmful. She was just reading a book at a table in a library. There were some implications about being so close to Jedi holocrons, but one would require the force to activate them. Everything else in the library was equivalent to that of a major university’s… Technically public. Besides, if he kept an eye on her, she couldn’t do anything truly terrible.

He raised his own book, “May I sit?”

She narrowed her eyes and he wondered if she was trying to burn him with her stare on the spot. He didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered to every single empty table around them before returning to him.

She sighed and waved a small hand in a non-committed gesture that he assumed was her relenting and expressing that she did not care either way. He bit the inside of his cheek when he stumbled into his seat.

_“Smooth, Kenobi.”_

Regardless, they both made a valiant effort to silently read their respective books. Obi-Wan, for his part, found the same old text incredibly boring in comparison to the utter conundrum of an outsider finding their way into the archives. Who let her in?

He spared her another glance. She seemed very young- likely around the same age he was. He couldn’t remember her face from any terrorist watch list or wanted posters. She wasn’t a politician as far as he could tell, but to be fair, Qui-Gon and he weren’t big on interfering with politics. He was amazed by her confidence and could see how anyone else in here would be fooled into thinking she belonged. She gave off the kind of presence that she owned every room she entered.

He couldn’t tell if that was a positive or negative attribute.

To his embarrassment, he’d been caught staring and in spite of himself, felt his neck growing hot at the implication. In any normal setting, some random guy sitting at the _only_ occupied table (inhabited by an attractive young woman) directly across from her and awkwardly staring? He could understand her frustrations. She did not deserve to feel uncomfortable in such a way. Discretion might have not been explicitly written in the Jedi code, but he was going to have to work on implementing it as a personal code.

“Do you feel you own this table or something? I can move.” She said haughtily.

“Well, my name _is_ on it.” He scratched the back of his neck. He really couldn’t seem to stop digging himself into a ditch when talking to this poor woman, could he?

When she furrowed her brow, he pointed off to the side of her book, where a sloppily-carved signature was engraved into the surface.

“Ah, so you’re…” She squinted to read it, “Owk?”

“They’re my initials.” He shrugged. “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” She repeated like he’d somehow said his own name wrong.

“It rhymes a little. Like poetry.” He wanted to disappear into the force right in that moment.

_“Like poetry?”_

She didn’t give him much reprieve, because she wrinkled her nose. “Have you ever read poetry?”

Yes, yes he had. He was certain that in this mortifying excuse of stealth that he could not remember even a nursery-level poem if he really tried.

“The archives offer everything.” He said simply.

“Including your own table.”

“No one else sits here.” He said.

“I am.”

“Yes, well… I don’t know you.”

She pursed her lips. “And that makes me no one?”

“Of- of course not. No one is _no one_. That’s silly.”

“But it’s what you said.” She leaned her chin on her hands like she knew she had him in her grasp for the kill. He considered himself a novice at verbal banter, but she had simply taken him off guard and wiped the floor with him repeatedly… Without any mercy.

“I did it when I was a child. Have you never done anything you weren’t supposed to? Or been to a place you weren’t supposed to for that matter?”

It wasn’t subtle, but it seemed to suck a little confidence from her buoyant stance. She crossed her arms and studied him in a new light, perhaps impressed that he’d figured it out or debating how she was going to keep his mouth closed on the matter.

“Are all Jedi able to sense the force in one another?” She asked.

“Most.” He said. “All Jedi have their strong suits.”

She nodded, “Yours is not handwriting.”

“And yours is not friendliness.” He returned.

“We’ve established I’m not a Jedi.”

“But you are _someone_.” He reiterated. “The question is, who?”

“I don’t owe you an answer.” She said, “I’m waiting for someone, actually. You can ask that kind librarian.”

“That’s Master Jocasta Nu. She is one of the highest regarded Jedi-”

“-And would she be less to you if she was just a librarian?” She questioned.

He wasn’t expecting that. He’d perceived her tone towards Master Nu as derogatory, but it was apparently not. It was almost like she held higher respect for Jocasta the librarian than the Jedi. Or maybe, it wasn’t the profession at all, like she was trying to ask him.

“N-No, but she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t a Jedi.”

She referred to herself. “And yet…”

He sighed and massaged his temples. “Who are you waiting for?”

“Need I remind you that I do not owe you an answer? Besides, aren’t you just a Padawan?”

He felt anger boil his blood at the slight, but he shot it down as quickly as it rose. He was better than that. She did not know the way. _Center. Patience. Serenity._

“Would you respect me less if that were true?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you take me as someone that is that embedded into the politics of your religion?”

“It’s more than a religion. It’s a way of being. The Jedi are guardians of peace across the galaxy.”

“Is that what you’re doing here? Preserving the peace of the Jedi archives by expressing entitlement over a table? All whilst perusing biased literature regarding Mandalorian Wars?”

Biased literature? What on earth was she on about?

“I apologize for intruding what I can only imagine is an enthralling tale of… ‘Pacifism Through the Ages’?” He questioned before continuing, “But it is my right as a Jedi to be concerned of infiltration. It would not be the first time it happened.”

“But you’re not a Jedi, you’re a Padawan.” She pointed out calmly. “So, what right does that grant you?”

“At least mild curiosity?”

“Tell me, Obi-Wan, with all of you Jedi bobbing here and there with those weapons attached to your belts… Everywhere… With minds of your own and a control over a power that connects all of us together… And me, a pacifist that is quietly reading on her own, which do you deem more frightening?”

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.” He said. “Idealism terrifies people around here.”

“And what’s idealistic about pacifism?” The coolness of her vibrato vanished instantly. He’d struck a cord.

“How much time do you have?” He asked.

“Not as much you!” She snapped. “I certainly don’t have time to go around infringing upon the private studies of young women.”

He opened his mouth to return fire with fire, because _how_ often was he going to go circles with a woman who he didn’t even know the name of? It was infuriating and it shouldn’t be. He was to be a Jedi and had to control such aggravations. She did not have the blessed gift of the force to release her anger into. She didn’t have such protection or warmth.

Still, he had a retort on the edge of his lips, before a hand clamped onto his shoulder.

“Ah, my young Padawan! I see you met Satine Kryze.”

He looked up at Master Qui-Gon with confusion and then back to the young woman- _Satine_ \- in apprehension. Satine looked equally as perturbed and her eyes widened slightly.

_Satine Kryze…?_

He glanced down to his book for a moment before he met her narrowed eyes once again.

“Yes, _that_ one.” She talked to him like he was slow to the uptake, which he resented, but tried to bury deep. She did not seem pleased either.

“The Duke’s eldest daughter. She’s coming with us to Mandalore. We’re to keep her safe.” Qui-Gon smiled like he didn’t catch on to the energy of Obi-Wan and Satine’s horrible first meeting. By the way his hand tightened ever so slightly on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, he definitely had.

This… _was_ going to be a long mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More "Touch Me" by Fall Out Boy
> 
> "I don't blame you for being you, but you can't blame me for hating it."


	2. A Regal Escort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan's assumption that this is no simple mission proves correct.

“With all due respect, Master, I don’t understand why we need to take such drastic precautions if Mandalore is expecting us to assist in bringing a supply of rations anyway.” Obi-Wan asked as a black cloak was draped around his front and he was slowly spun around to face his own reflection in a mirror.

The droid behind him beeped in question, no doubt demanding that he stay still lest he have one of his ears nipped by the sheers that stuck out of its central unit. It had not been the first time since he’d sat in this chair- far from it, but Obi-Wan had not expected to shed his traditional Padawan look until he passed the trials.

_ “If I pass the trials.” _ He reminded himself. If he continued to behave as he did earlier, that time would be extended further and further away.

“As you have extensively researched, Mandalore has no love for the Order. It’s best for the sake of our charge that we lay low.”

“Does that mean you’ll be getting a haircut as well?” He challenged, because while every human male-Padawan had the same traditional haircut, he still could not imagine his Master with anything else but a curtain of long brown hair. 

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Mine is not a symbol of our way, my quick Padawan.”

They’d already shucked off their tunics and robes in exchange for pants and jackets that would make them look more like smugglers than Jedi. Both kept their lightsabers, of course, but tucked them away in the inside pockets of their jackets.

There had been a time when things were not so smooth between he and Qui-Gon, when their differences got in the way of their work and more importantly, their growth. It had gotten so difficult that the idea of reassigning them had come up when Qui-Gon was offered a seat on the Jedi Council. All that was in the past, though, and while he would never fully-agree with his Master, Obi-Wan since realized he did not always have to. 

That being said, he felt a twinge of melancholy as the droid swiftly sliced his braid, which since he was a child, was the very symbol of his stance in the Jedi Order. Seeing it fall to the ground like it was nothing still felt treasonous. Next, the droid ran an electric razor over the entirety of his head, not shaving to the skin, which he was thankful for, but removing the little ponytail in the back and making his short hair even all around. 

“Remember, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon placed a reassuring hand on his shoulders. “The haircut does not maketh the Jedi. That remains in your spirit.”

That strengthened Obi-Wan’s resolve. It seemed awfully silly to mourn something that would easily grow back (his hair grew like weeds, honestly) in time. Besides, there would come a time when he would gladly shed the look altogether and stand as a true Jedi Knight. If anything, looking at his own reflection simply made him desire to be ready for that moment. 

He thanked the droid that cut his hair and slid out of his seat. “I apologize for my lack of tact earlier, Master. I did not know who she was and regardless of that, did not behave how a Jedi should.”

“I do not believe I am the one you should be apologizing to.” Qui-Gon smiled coyly, “Seeing as we are to ensure the young heir’s safety to Mandalore, it seems you’ll have plenty of time to think up the correct words this time.”

The sense of dread filled Obi-Wan’s stomach and that resolve from earlier wavered a great deal. He truly did not like interfering with politics, but a Jedi’s position sometimes demanded of it. He especially did not take too kindly to Satine Kryze, who clearly did not want their help and had more or less resigned to it. 

“And why is our protection of her majesty so secretive? I know the reason the council did not deliberate further details in session was to keep it off the books from the Senate. Does the Chancellor not know of this?”

“What the Chancellor is and isn’t privy to is not our knowledge to have.” Qui-Gon said, “But extending our assistance in establishing peace amongst the Mandalorians could prove useful for more than just one reason.”

Mandalore was notorious for brutally conquering and taking over other planets in the galaxy, creating something akin to an Empire. It all sounded very ugly to Obi-Wan, particularly just how ravenous these many wars could be. Only a fraction of Concord Dawn was livable due to the toll the battles had taken on the land. 

And now, the tensions were higher than ever across Mandalore’s many planets. It was rumored that if they did not have anyone else to fight, they’d regress into fighting one another. Obi-Wan was unsure if such a thing could be in someone’s blood, but after meeting Satine Kryze earlier that afternoon, there was a certain natural bite to her that did not seem learned. 

If peace were established and Mandalore recognized the help of the Jedi, there could be a renewed rapport between them. Mandalore may even join the Republic, which whether anyone wanted to believe it or not, could be mutually beneficial. Hyperspace routes could be adjusted, trade could flourish, and the Mandalorian artillery and army would serve the Republic if armed assistance was ever required.

“I see your point.” Obi-Wan admitted. “If Mandalore fails to see our presence as a positive attribute, it could be viewed as an invasion.”

“Which is why,” Qui-Gon began, “Perhaps you should try to be a little nicer to the girl.”

Evening had settled over Coruscant when they reunited with Satine. They walked onto the landing platform near their cruiser to see Master Yoda and Master Windu were by her side. She quickly glanced over at Obi-Wan with crossed arms.

“Well, it’s an improvement, I suppose.” She referred to his hair. 

He sighed and gave Qui-Gon a look that said, _“Easier said than done.”_

Still, he forced a smile and bowed slightly to show respect for both Satine as well as for Mace Windu and Yoda. Qui-Gon did the same, which meant his response must have been correct.

“Leave you, in good hands, we do.” Yoda nodded solemnly. “Get you home, Master Qui-Gon and his Padawan will.”

“I will make their efforts known should we arrive.” She said. “Coruscant has been home to me for the past five years. It has shown me hospitality that I shall hope to one day extend to the Jedi on Mandalore.”

“We appreciate that.” Master Windu said and turned to the Jedi. “May the force be with you.”

That was a surprise to Obi-Wan. He’d absently wondered why in the force would Satine even be on Coruscant in the first place, but evidently, she’d lived here. She certainly did not seem relaxed around Yoda or Mace Windu, but she was not hostile either. 

With that, she turned on her heels and moved directly between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and up the ramp of the humble refurbished cruiser. He wondered how many class-A starships she’d been used to. As per protocol, he waited for Qui-Gon to board the ship first and followed behind, feeling the gangplank rise under his heels. 

Satine, of course, took her own quarters aboard the crusier, leaving Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon to share. They’d slept in worse in their time together and it was a Jedi’s way to lead a simplistic life anyway. He’d had bunkmates since he was first brought into the Order. They’d all stay awake at night, chatting about adventures they’d endured. As they got older, they all got a bit sadder, for the adventures started to carry more weight to them. In this case, Obi-Wan wondered what he’d feel the need to relay about Satine Kryze.

Still, he knew from experience that the longer bad blood sat out, the harder it stained, so he took the initiative and knocked on her door.

He waited for a moment before the durasteel door slid open with a loud _hush_ and standing before him, in what he predicted was more traditional attire for Mandalorian royalty, was Satine.

“Yes?” She asked and it dawned on him that she was likely curious of their ascent. 

“We’ll be taking off any moment from now, your grace.” Obi-Wan said. “My Master is many things, but he isn’t known for his smooth departures so I do suggest you buckle in.”

“I appreciate the advice.” She said, though in her voice and through the force, he could tell she did not.

“I apologize for earlier.” He said, “I was out of turn and rude.”

She leaned against the doorframe and looked up at him with those icy blue eyes that were not believing much of what he was saying from the looks of it. He had meant it. He was not the kind of man who relayed empty words. It was not in his nature. He was out of turn, even if she was too. 

“Would it have been out of turn had I not been who I am?” She asked.

“Do I truly seem as though I am embedded in the religion of politics?” A question for a question. He was determined not to allow her quick tongue to get the better of him again. He remained cool. 

“No.” She said after great consideration. “Do I?”

“I’d imagine you would have to be, given your future position, right?” Obi-Wan asked. “Is that not why you spent the past few years on Coruscant?”

“Partially.” She said, though she did not give the impression that she would be elaborating any more on that. She did not seem altogether pleased by his answer either, which was curious.

“Well, then.” He said after a long pause of perhaps neither of them knowing what to say, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“I thought you said I should buckle up.” She said.

“Oh… I hardly assumed you’d listen to me.”

“Here’s a lesson to add to your list, Padawan Kenobi: never assume.” She swiftly moved past him. 

It seemed she was too late, though, for the engines kicked on and the ship lurched, aggressively throwing her straight into him. He caught her, but they fell hard against the durasteel frame and onto the ground. 

“You weren’t kidding about the takeoff.” She winced and gently touched her nose, which was bleeding from the impact against his chest. 

Obi-Wan internally cursed. He’d been responsible for Satine’s wellbeing for all of ten minutes and she’d already suffered physical carnage. He could have used the force to lessen her impact, but he’d been surprised by the abrupt movement as well and now that he thought about it, he knew his back was going to hurt in the morning. 

He reached out to inspect her face, but she batted his hands away.

He had been partially joking when referring to Qui-Gon’s flying. His Master was one of the stealthiest pilots in the order due to his level of balance with the force, but sometimes his Master favored haste over the constitutions of his passengers. 

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I’m fine.” She huffed and pushed herself up off him deliberately before unsteadily getting to her feet. “Though I am suddenly counting down the moments to landing even more now. How does one go through all that training when they can’t even pilot a ship?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but they were suddenly rocked into one another again and sloshed in the opposite direction. This time, Obi-Wan had his wits about him and used the force to steady Satine from slamming back against the wall. He did not, however, have enough wits to stop himself from suffering that fate.

“I don’t think that’s my Master’s flying.” He groaned when they steadied again. He could feel through his force-bond with his Master a level of calmness that matched… Slumber? Quickly, Obi-Wan launched to his feet.

“Sit down and buckle in!” He ordered and was surprised that she immediately listened.

He raced through the galley and stumbled into the cockpit where sure enough, Qui-Gon Jinn was out cold against the controls, head heavily rested on top of the dashboard with a little trail of blood matted in his hair. All controls were completely frozen and had electric currents flowing through them, making them impossible to the touch. They hadn’t even made it through the atmosphere of Coruscant and hastily whipped in and out of oncoming traffic. 

He shook his Master to no avail. He was alive and not fatally injured- that much he could tell, but he was knocked out from the impact to his head. 

As a speeder made a dead-on collision with their ship and knocked out one of their engines, a loud alarm rippled, basking the entire ship in a red glow. They began teetering downwards and Obi-Wan racked his brain for answers.

“What’s going on up there?” Satine shouted from the back and truthfully, she sounded like she was about to hurl.

“We might be landing a little sooner than expected, your highness.” He tried to scrub any nervousness from his tone, but that was proving to be very difficult given their circumstance.

Someone clearly wanted Satine not to make it to Mandalore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: In Too Deep by Sum 41
> 
> "Seems like each time I'm with you I loose my mind, because I'm bending over backwards to relate."


	3. Written in Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satine tries to grapple with the presence of her new bodyguards. She takes to one much easier than the other.

“You know,” Satine swallowed bile that climbed up her throat. “When I said _if_ we make it back to Mandalore, I was mostly kidding.” 

“Yes, very funny.” He said, rather exaggerated. “Do stay seated. We might be experiencing a little turbulence.”

Well, if that wasn’t understatement of the century.

Despite the clear disposition of the younger Jedi, he was trying very hard to appear calm and in control. She suspected this was a common default for him. He certainly did not carry the same coolness as Master Jinn, but that was likely one of the many qualities that still deemed Obi-Wan Kenobi a _Padawan_.

She didn’t think too hard on the confusing structures of the Jedi hierarchy and instead climbed to the front of the cockpit, unsure of what services she could possibly offer in this situation, but positive that it couldn’t get any worse than it already was.

Satine had never been much for flying. She knew very little beyond the basics of piloting a ship and while confident she would be able to get from point A to point B alive, was about as far from masterclass rank as the outer rim. She’d spent her life always having an entourage, whose sole duty was to transport her here and there. Over the years, she’d hardened her resolve to it, growing beyond a childhood fear of flying and into general distaste for it, but she was always someone who firmly believed in moving forward.

That belief was difficult to uphold when the only ‘forward’ that seemed ahead was the surface of Coruscant.

“I thought I said to stay-”

“-A seatbelt isn’t going to do much good when the ship is on fire.”

“What?” He flashed his gaze to her, for a moment, not hiding the scared boy behind the stare. She wondered if the look she returned exposed equally as much in her own eyes.

She pointed to the screen farthest to the right and he cursed and stared straight ahead, sweat gathering at his temples.

Her eyes bugged out as she noticed Master Jinn was passed out on the control panel.

“What-?”

“Unconscious.” Obi-Wan supplied and that infuriated her, because _obviously_ he was unconscious. She wanted to know how or what the hell they were going to do about it.

“And this?” She gestured to the red alerts that lit up the dashboard. Small slews of electricity surrounded all controls, making them untouchable. It wasn’t quite like they were falling, but whipping haphazardly through the city, narrowing missing the buildings around them, but not quite as successfully dodging traffic droids and speeders.

“I’m working on it.” There was an edge to his voice that reaffirmed her assumption that he wasn’t as ‘put together’ as he’d like to be. Maybe he noticed it too, but it almost appeared like he was concentrating to keep them from crashing, despite just standing there. She said nothing on it, but brightened at the thought of what she carried in her pack. As the ship slid side to side, Obi-Wan doing his best to stall their imminent doom, she struggled to the back, rocking her constitution even harder.

Under his breath, she could hear him mumbling some chant.

“I am one with the force and the force is with me.”

“If you don’t mind.” She clutched onto the doorway to stable herself. “I’d rather not be _one_ with the cement.”

If she’d been facing him, she would have seen a look that could kill if that were remotely the Jedi way. Instead, she carried on and stumbled into her temporary quarters. She’d briefly made a note that it was smaller than she was used to, but she’d previously fretted over the idea of sharing sleeping space with the Jedi and was comforted to know she would at least have a little privacy to practice her speech.

A speech she may not get the chance to give if these Jedi got her killed first.

Finally, from one of her bags, she retrieved a small vial. They’d hit something heavy, sending her backwards, but she caught herself on the counter in the galley. In the reflection of one of the pans, she could see the little trail of blood under her nose from earlier.

Already, she looked more the part of a Mandalorian leader. She tried not to resent that.

She pushed herself forward and back into the cockpit, falling to her knees. In spite of his deep concentration doing… _Something_ , Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed concern for her wellbeing, but she raised a hand to silence him. They had bigger problems at hand than her getting little scrapes on her knees. Besides, she really didn’t want his sympathy.

She popped open the vial and gently turned Qui-Gon’s still face towards her.

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to be confused, because he asked, “What the Force-”

“-Relax.” She said like her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest at a million seconds per hour. Clearly, Obi-Wan would not be able to keep this ship away from oncoming traffic for too much longer and they needed a little more help. She wasn’t even sure _how_ he was doing it, but was determined to save that question for later.

She stuck the small vial under his nose and squeezed; a small puff of mist came out and his eyes shot open immediately, fully awake and absolutely stunned. He was so jarred by the upstart that his head flew back and he bumped against the headrest on the pilot seat.

“Where-?”

“There’s no time!” Satine ordered, conjuring the tones of leadership that she’d been practicing since she first arrived on Coruscant. She must admit, it was very convincing and this was validated by Qui-Gon’s immediate leap into action.

“Shut down the ship.” He said.

“All power?” Obi-Wan asked incredulously. “Did she give you drugs?”

“Drugs!” She was appalled and he didn’t seem to care much.

“The system’s been tampered with. It being on is doing more harm than good.” Qui-Gon ignored both of them and actively began doing what he’d told Obi-Wan, switching and hitting an array of different buttons and switches. He hadn’t even seemed plussed by the currents of electricity on the console. After a moment that felt like eternity, everything dimmed around them save for one silent emergency light that blinked from the back of the ship.

“We’ve got to focus.”

“Focus on what?” She asked. “Falling to our doom.”

“It’s harder than you think.” He smiled. “Your highness, I suggest you hold on tight. Are you with me, Padawan?”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan actually grinned, feeling much more comfortable to have his Master calling the shots again.

Satine had to agree with him there, because with the two of them… Concentrating… Everything suddenly became increasingly still, particularly her Jedi companions. Both had their eyes closed firmly and while she couldn’t see or feel what they were experiencing, she did have a front row seat to the reality they were causing. Had she not been on board their ship, she might have not believed it.

She heard about the wonders Jedi could do. You didn’t spend five years in the capital city without hearing the rumors. She heard of moving things with their minds, controlling their enemies and their actions, and even freezing objects in motion. Usually, she paid them no mind, not exactly writing any of it off, because it was a big galaxy, but not endorsing it, because while the galaxy was large, she had her very practical and real duties to keep focus on.

And still, the awe that struck her as the two Jedi slowed time around them and gently lowered their damaged ship down to a nearby landing platform stunned her to be still as well.

“I don’t believe it.” She said quietly.

Neither responded, clearly somewhere else despite physically being before her. The relief that swept through her was unmatched and for the first time, she considered the positives of having the Jedi bodyguards. If this was what they could do… Perhaps, there was still hope.

* * *

To be fair, the sense of awe did wear off and when it did, she had to channel all of her own training to prevent herself from lashing out at the two people who had technically saved her. That became increasingly more difficult when Obi-Wan suggested they go into a drab diner and Qui-Gon eagerly agreed. Even more so when Obi-Wan suggested she stay with the ship.

“Ah, yes. I’ll just sit here and burn.” She scoffed. “No doubt whoever planned this will come looking for the body. And why shouldn’t they have it after all the effort?”

“I meant someone would stay with you.” He replied, incredulously. “Surely you don’t think we’re foolish enough-”

“-She’s right, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon sighed after taking a final analysis on his datapad.

“What did you give him back there?” He turned back to Satine.

“A Mandalorian Popper.” She returned with clenched teeth. “Not some black market death stick. It’s like an energy drink, you-”

“-It’s not wise for anyone to stay back as this was clearly sabotage. We all go to Dex’s.”

“Master, Dex’s can be a little rough around the edges.”

“Wouldn’t know a thing about that, being from Mandalore.” She muttered.

“In a palace.” Obi-Wan added.

She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at the Padawan, who wore a completely neutral look on his face. That was all the more infuriating- making her the reactionary person and him the totally composed commentator.

“What are you insinuating by that?”

“Nothing at all.” He maintained calm. “Just that it makes a difference.”

“That’s not ‘nothing at all’ and you know it.” She argued. “Do not presume to have me figured out, Padawan.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” He began, but a hand was placed on his shoulder by Qui-Gon, who could clearly see that this conversation was going nowhere. She wanted to continue, of course, because a good row was not only excellent practice for political negotiations, but would ease some of the tension that strung across her body.

“Now, now…” He sighed, “I’m sure Dex will allow us discretion. That being said, remain on constant alert.”

Obi-Wan took the lead, jaw set, but focus renewed and bearing no signs of any previous tension. How was he able to just release anger? Or perhaps he’d never felt it. Were the Jedi truly without feelings as they were rumored to be? That seemed ridiculous, since they were still people, but brainwashing could bury feelings properly.

“Why are we going here at all? We have to get going again.” She insisted.

“Indeed, your grace, but to do that, we’ll need a ship.” Qui-Gon said as he helped her hop off the ramp.

“Yes, and how are we to achieve that at this…” Her eyes roamed over the dingy hole in the wall. She was all in support of small business, but she was positive this place broke several health codes just on the exterior alone. “Place?”

The older Jedi smiled, knowingly. “Sometimes the things you need are in the last places you’d expect.”

She wanted to argue that this was the _first_ place Qui-Gon had apparently expected, but he continued.

“Upon inspection of the ship, there was clear but well-concealed sabotage- designed to take effect when we broke through the planet’s atmosphere and entered space, but my more… Aggressive flight patterns set it off sooner than expected.”

Had it switched on in space they might have been goners. Satine eyed him carefully- trying to assess if that had been his intent all along or if fate played a funny part in this tale. She supposed it had to be fate, for if it had been his intention, he would not have banged his head on the console and been knocked out cold. The saboteur couldn't have known that either. She could not read him, but that was in part to how drastically he stood over her. No matter what ship they procured, none were going to fit the giant of a man. His Padawan was much more fortunate in that regards, for he only came up to Qui-Gon’s nose in terms of height.

Still, there was something incredibly calming about Qui-Gon’s presence. He was not quick to incite argument or speak, but perhaps that was the most refreshing bit. He seemed to truly embrace any situation and deduce the right answer based on the atmosphere. His Padawan, could use some work.

She likely could too, but she was no Jedi and her life was currently in danger. She was giving herself a pass.

After they’d gotten inside in the very subdued diner, Satine had to mentally retract any instant ill-feeling towards the place. She’d been so caught up in the assumptions the Padawan was making of her that she had done the same thing. People and places were more than how they looked.

Because Dex’s diner smelled absolutely amazing. For a moment, she’d forgotten about the mission altogether and basked in the mingling scents of various dishes that were whirled around her by a WA-7 droid named ‘FLO’. There was a human waitress as well, but she lacked the same consistent buoyancy as the droid, which was expected. People grew tired, droids required charging.

A male Besalisk in a dirty (formerly white) shirt approached them, lit up by the sight of the two Jedi. Satine trailed behind, but observed closely as he pulled Obi-Wan into a huge hug that the Padawan did not object to.

“How are you, Dex?” He laughed. “You’ve met my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“Pleasure.” Qui-Gon bowed slightly, a small smile on his lips.

Satine exchanged an unreadable look with him, but seemed to be right in her deduction that this was Obi-Wan’s idea and these were his friends. She didn’t expect that, given the nature of the environment. They all seemed a little too casual to be friends with the rim rod-straight Padawan.

“And who’s this?” Dex asked dramatically in reference to Satine and elbowed him in the gut. “Are the Jedi alright with this?”

For a reason Satine could not place, Obi-Wan flushed a deep red. “Eh- What happened to ‘no questions’, Dex?”

“Right you are. I won’t snitch.” He winked at her. “Whatever you want, it’s on the house.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Qui-Gon smiled and guided Satine to a booth near the back of the restaurant. He slid in the side facing the door, likely to prevent any possible incoming threat. Obi-Wan lagged back to chat with Dex.

Before Satine could speak, FLO immediately placed three mugs of caf on the table and promised to return with the special, as it was apparently Obi-Wan’s favorite and they would surely enjoy it.

She had always been taught not to disrespect local customs and agreed to that with a smile.

“This place isn’t nearly as rough as he’d made it out to be.” She pointed out, looking as everyone mostly ate in peace. There weren’t even any patrons that were drinking alcohol or smoking death sticks.

“I suspect it was more to avoid questioning.” Qui-Gon said. “And perhaps less for your discretion, but his own embarrassment.”

“What was that all about?” She asked, “Why would the Jedi be against his accompaniment of me? Aside from the historical tension…”

He snorted, “If I read the implication correctly, I believe Dexter Jeffster was insinuating that you were Obi-Wan’s girlfriend.”

Satine’s jaw dropped in a combination of affront and embarrassment of her own. She knew off of Qui-Gon’s deliberate wandering gaze to the rest of the restaurant that it was she who was now a dark shade of red.

“As… As if I would-” She looked over at the Padawan and wrinkled his nose. “We’ve done nothing but argue this entire time. He’s…”

_“Difficult, presumptuous, stubborn, snarky, and exasperating by nature.”_

All of which were qualities he likely attributed to her as well.

“He’s trying his best.” Qui-Gon finished. “I know Obi-Wan can seem a little stiff, but I promise he is a good man with his heart in the right place. He would give his life to protect you if it came to that.”

“I should hope it won’t.” She nodded and tried to keep what he said in mind.

He smiled that easy smile again. “At the very least he has a good taste for food outside the temple.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Is it not satisfactory there?”

“Jedi learn to live off the bare necessities.” He explained. “We eat, drink, and sleep simply as it is meant to draw us closer to the living force and so we can want for nothing when on remote missions. We aren’t to desire materialism. That includes fancy foods.”

“So, basically-”

“-Yes, the food stinks.”

She laughed for the first time.

Obi-Wan came over with a broad smile on his face. “Good news, I got us a ship.”

“Good job, Padawan.” Qui-Gon smiled. “Let’s go see it.”

He seemed visibly joyous over his Master’s praise and had he not annoyed her so often, she might have found the change in demeanor pleasant. Even still, Qui-Gon’s words of giving him a chance did seem promising. After all, she was taking quite a liking to the older Jedi. Though she suspected most did. Maybe save for his superiors.

“What were you talking about?” He asked his Master, glancing briefly at Satine as if her laughing was the most peculiar thing in the world.

“Your insecurities are unbecoming.” She added before sliding past him. “Some boyfriend you are.”

She didn’t bother to look back at his reaction, but could practically hear his mouth opening and closing in shock. She relished in silencing him.

Just as they were making their way out of the diner, a breaking news headline interrupted the holovid that had been projecting in every corner.

Satine couldn’t remember hearing what the spokesperson said or what they looked like. Instead, her eyes fixated on the large red text that spread across the screen on a constant continuum. Her breaths could be heard in her own ears and a swell of uncertain emotions clouded her throat.

_Duke of Mandalore Murdered In Cold Blood._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Sink or Swim by Tyrone Wells
> 
> "Kamikaze airplanes in the sky  
> Are we going down or will we fly?  
> This could be a shipwreck on the shore  
> Or we could sail away forevermore."


	4. Maudlin Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satine settles with the fact that not only is she to be Duchess of Mandalore sooner rather than later, but that Mandalore has changed in her absence.

Every station had a different tune to what was going on, but all sang the same song at the end of it. Mandalore was officially at war with itself and Duke Adonai Kryze was murdered in his sleep, discovered by his servants the next morning. One of which, a man named Victor, was interviewed for the Galaxywide News-Net. 

Satine couldn’t seem to stop herself from pouring over every piece of coverage. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan hadn’t bothered her during their week-long journey so she’d certainly had the time. Due to the state of the ship that Obi-Wan conjured, they were unable to go into hyperspace. She didn’t have it in her to complain about it.

One network revealed his throat had been slit. Another had the kindness of mentioning that had his wife not already been dead for so many years, she likely would have been killed too. All were pitiful excuses for sympathetic journalism. They all tried to act like what was going on in her world was devastating for them when all it added up to was another paycheck for them.

She clutched the datapad that Qui-Gon had lent her and had to physically will herself from breaking it. That would have been counterproductive and embarrassing. And irrational. She was to be the Duchess of Mandalore someday-

-Today. She would be made Duchess when she arrived on Keldabe today. It wouldn’t be the ornate and beautiful ceremony she’d researched and anticipated as a child. When a leader unexpectedly relinquished their crown, the successor usually got a rush job of a commencement.

None of that mattered anymore. All of the hopes and dreams she’d had for the day she would be eased in as leader were long-gone. Her father being a mentor to her was not a possibility anymore. She would not get to discuss implementing a new emphasis of peace with him. She did not have room for error or a resource to lean on. She was alone.

And people were trying to kill her.

She didn’t cry. Not even the night the news had broke. The Jedi definitely expected she would. Obi-Wan handed her a small patch of cloth and she took it in confusion, but didn’t say anything. Qui-Gon brought her food a couple times a day and likely used it as an excuse to check that she hadn’t gone ballistic and saw herself out in the middle of deep space.

She didn’t know what kind of leaders they were used to on Coruscant, but she had a duty to uphold. She had an entire world to put together. Most importantly, she had a legacy to protect.

And yeah, when she thought a little too hard on what all of that would entail of her, her knees buckled a little, but she never allowed herself the room to waver for long. When they arrived, she needed to draw Mandalore together, not apart. She needed these Jedi to quit worrying about her feelings and start figuring out who the hell murdered her father. The Duke. Who murdered the Duke?

It had been some time since she’d been in the palace- even longer since she’d stepped foot in her parent’s room. She was never the kind of girl to crawl in bed with them when she had nightmares. That was more of Bo’s thing- only she did that with her, not her parents.

She tried to envision openings for an intruder to get in. There were windows in the master bedroom, but they were several stories in the air and last she remembered, didn’t even open. They were lined with electric currents that fried many a bird in her time in the palace. Her father used to make jokes of it, but it always sat wrong to Satine. Clearly, some part of her had been correct if those extra measures of security couldn’t prevent her father’s murderer from getting in.

 _Unless_ …

It had to be someone who knew the palace inside and out. That opened up a new sequence of dread within Satine. She struggled with contemplating her strong and sturdy father ever taken down or weak, let alone dead. However, that thought became all the more blindingly difficult to imagine it being someone he trusted.

She pressed the button to open the durasteel doors to her private quarters with a _swish_. Obi-Wan had been asleep on the small couch near the galley, but startled awake at either the sound of her door or the mere presence of her. She did not understand Jedi and their senses, but already in her little time with them, she could see they certainly operated with a power she did not possess.

Still, she wished it was Qui-Gon. He was much easier to talk to, even in the awkward state of eggshells they walked on around her. At least his sympathies seemed to come from a more natural place than Obi-Wan, who seemed simply nervous she would start crying every time he talked to her.

“Uh, Duch-Sa-My lady…” He was unsure what to call her, which reminded her yet again that her position in this world was changing rapidly. Much quicker than she ever wanted.

“I’m not Duchess yet.” She didn’t mean for it to come out biting, but it delivered as such.

He didn’t retaliate as he hadn’t for the past week. He only nodded. “Right.”

 _“He feels sorry for me.”_ She mentally spat. The very last thing she wanted was anyone’s pity. Resources? Support? Loyalty? Yes, but pity was not on her agenda of wants or needs. Her heart suddenly felt very raw at the idea of anyone following her out of pity. The poor teenage girl who lost her parents and had no one to look to.

She took a breath. “I need you and your Master to be on high alert when we land. Clearly, someone has it out for me and my family and I would highly appreciate your best efforts in discovering who.”

 _“What’s left of it…”_ No, that was not productive-thinking. She blinked fiercely in admonishment. She probably looked crazy to the Padawan.

“Of course, your highness.” He readily answered, still far too agreeable for her liking or comfort. How was this the same person who accused her of slipping drugs to his Master last week?

“I believe it might be someone affiliated with House Kryze.” She explained. “I’ve studied the nature of the attack to a T short of having the actual crime scene DNA in front of me.”

He tilted his head, trying to catch a better look at her through the dim cabin lighting.

“And they can’t know you’re Jedi.” She continued. “Especially not now.”

He pointed to his head, presumably to the haircut. She still maintained that it looked miles better than that awful look they’d set him up with before. When she first met him, she thought it was a personal choice, but apparently it was by creed to look that way. And people thought Mandalorians were cruel.

They could be. The death of the Duke proved that.

“Have you slept much, your grace?”

“Yes,” She flared, even if it was a lie. She still did not appreciate his presumption that she was unwell and therefore, crazy, due to her recent loss. He didn’t know her or how she operated.

“Okay.” He said. He did not believe her and she could tell he wanted to say it. A long pause took stronghold over them. Neither seemed to know what to do or say. Satine knew what she wanted to say, but willed herself to find the words without sounding callous. While she never minded an aggressive conversation here or there, she didn’t want Obi-Wan to assume she was so grief-stricken that she was taking out her aggressions on him.

At least, she wasn’t trying to do that.

“Have you ever lost anyone?” She asked finally.

He stilled and opened his mouth before closing it. He was either pondering this question or unsure what to say. The truth was, if you had to think about it, the answer was likely no.

Just when she was about to turn around and shut her door, he seemed to find his way around what he wanted to express.

“I’ve never had anyone to lose.” His voice was neutral, but she felt very sad for him in that moment. At least, it sounded like something to be mournful about. Never having _anyone_ at all? She couldn’t imagine having never known her family or her friends.

“Not even parents?” She asked, voice hardly above a whisper.

He sensed her melancholy and outstretched a hand to shake it, trying to physically prevent her from getting the wrong idea about something. “No, you mistake my words. It’s nothing to be sad about. I never knew my parents.”

“That doesn’t clarify anything at all.” She said.

He bit his lip. “It’s like… You don’t miss the force, do you?”

“Miss the force?”

“Yes. You don’t miss it, because it’s something you’ve never had, right?”

He was right. She’s never in her many days ever missed some hidden power that allowed the Jedi to control the objects around them.

“No. I’ve never missed the force.” She agreed and crossed her arms. “That’s not the same thing as having a family or loved ones.”

“The force provides security, guidance, duty, and reason.” He shrugged. “It checks a lot of boxes.”

“Not love.” She countered.

“No. Not love, but then again, Jedi are forbidden from love.”

“What?”

“Well, more so attachment. Empathy, kindness, caring… Those aspects of love are fine. We’re supposed to love from a strictly… Distant position.” He was saying all of this like it was normal and she guessed for him it was, but she could see of his slowing words that her expression was not the level of approval he’d expected.

“So… Let me get this straight.” She said. “You’re taken from your parents as a baby so you don’t remember them or ever grow to love them?”

“I was quite old. 3 years old, actually.”

“That’s _old_.” She blanched. “And you’re not allowed to love your friends at the temple?”

“Well, we’re allowed to care for them, but not form attachment.”

“You say that like those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He sighed, “I didn’t say it was easy.”

“And you’re telling me that if your Master died you wouldn’t be totally devastated?”

He flinched and maybe she struck the nerve she’d wanted to, but she partially regretted it. It wasn’t that she wanted to hurt him, but know that it was possible that there was feeling beneath the exterior beyond the brash bravado he’d shown last week.

“I would mourn him.” He phrased carefully and she could see in his eyes that it went deeper than that.

“What is so damning about attachment?”

“It clouds judgement. We detach so the rest of the galaxy can live in peace. It’s meant to be an act of selflessness.”

“And you believe that.”

He nodded. “It’s in the code.”

“So it must be true.” She sighed. “You know, love inspires many. Attachment invigorates purpose. It doesn’t have to lead to the darkness. Sometimes, it’s just as simple as feeling seen. It changes things, but it can be good.”

“If you insist.” He did not like his Jedi code being questioned and she could tell he didn’t like how she rejected his textbook viewpoint on it all.

“I’m not some fragile doll.” She quietly chastised. “Please don’t treat me as such.”

Something in him sagged forward and he released a heavy breath. “I would be devastated, you know.”

She blinked, not comprehending.

“If Qui-Gon died.” He reiterated. “He is the only person to ever give me a real chance, even if I don’t always deserve it. He is my family in many ways. We are not unfeeling. I just could not let it fester or control me. We have to release such temptations into the force, because that level of chaos could render us to darkness.”

“What you’re referring to is obsession.” She said, though she respected his open honesty. “Which yes, I could see being dangerous in your position.”

He nodded briskly and soon the stoic exterior was back. “It’s late. I do recommend you _actually_ try to get some sleep.”

She huffed. “I said-”

“-Not to treat you like you’re frail.” He finished. “I’d rather not see you become frail, thanks.”

She groaned. “Yes, well. Do the same. I don’t need you falling asleep while you’re supposed to be solving the Duke’s murder.”

“Jedi only require an hour or two of sleep.” He explained.

“Oh for Kriff’s sake.” She rolled her eyes and walked back to her room. “Are you people allowed to do anything?”

He shrugged. “With great power…”

“… Comes a terrible structure of rules.” She finished before shutting her door.

* * *

Despite attempting to heed Obi-Wan’s advice and try to get some rest, she could not relent in tossing and turning. How could she? When all she could see behind closed eyes was the death of her father or the bloodshed of her people? Watching those news stories was arguably ill-advised, but she didn’t believe in having the luxury of being ignorant anymore.

She felt like she blinked and Qui-Gon Jinn was tapping on her door, letting her know they were within range of the capital city and had received landing clearance. She did not waste time in getting herself out of bed and ready. It wasn’t that tempting to stay there anyway. The mattress felt extremely lumpy and small. She could only imagine the discomfort Qui-Gon felt in his if she had a moment to complain.

Then again, perhaps Jedi didn’t need comfort. She wanted to roll her eyes at her conversation with Obi-Wan. Though, honestly, it had made her feel slightly better… Knowing he was a person and this wasn’t going to just be some job that he could either succeed or fail at. If he cared about his Master, who clearly cared about those around him, he would take care of her if he had to. Even Qui-Gon had vouched for him and said he would die for her.

She wouldn’t let him. No more death.

After taking a quick shower, she dressed herself in an appropriate black gown with long sleeves. She didn’t weave her hair with a headpiece out of respect for the circumstances. She simply pinned her bangs (which she was trying to grow out) back and let her hair hand in loose curls.

Their ship was met by Prime Minister Todrick and his entourage, who was recently reelected for his second term. When she first met him as a child, he was an executive assistant. Now, he’d certainly climbed up the political ladder. Briefly, she wondered if he had much desire to climb higher. It didn’t make that much sense, though, considering there was a reason the Prime Minister and the Duke/Duchess were completely different entities and unrelated. Still, she would look into his surge in promotion later on. It had been a while since she was on-world.

“Lady Satine.” He and the guards all bowed respectfully.

Truthfully, it made her want to be sick.

She outstretched a hand as she’d seen her mother do a thousand times when she was little and he took it to place a brief kiss on the back of her hand before escorting her off the shuttle.

“We did not expect you to be arriving in such… Humble means.” He said in reference to the ship, which was much worse for wear looking than the one that exploded, but this one got them here in one piece so that was something.

She sighed, ignoring the flutters in the stomach. “Ah, well. My body guards and I felt it much more appropriate to be discrete given the circumstances.”

She watched for his reaction and sure enough, his face fell tremendously. His eyes even seemed to fill up with a film of tears, which she hadn’t been expected. She noticed some of the guards looked a little misty eyed too. She didn’t discredit them for it. Far be it from she to prevent someone from expressing themselves in a healthy way, but she had no idea that her father was this well-liked. After all, he was killed for a reason.

“Yes, we are very sorry for your loss, My Lady. We can only imagine what you must be going through.”

She wasn’t even certain what she was going through.

“It won’t be easy.” She said gently and patted his hand, which still held hers. “But Mandalore has prevailed through worse.”

He smiled lightly. “You already sound like him.”

She withdrew her hand automatically, affronted by that reaction, but tried desperately hard to keep that to herself. In a means of diffusing any awkwardness, she cleared her throat and turned to the two disguised Jedi. Qui-Gon actually looked like he could be a pirate with his hair in a ponytail and in the rumpled clothes he wore. Obi-Wan looked like a kid dressing up as a smuggler.

“This is my aforementioned security detail.” She began and internally cursed when she realized she hadn’t thought up names for them. “Um, this is… Quinn and Ben!”

Todrick took the bait and acknowledge the two men. “We will of course provide you quarters that are close to the Duchess- ooh, sorry.”

He smiled a little. “Soon-to-be Duchess.”

“That would be lovely.” Qui-Gon said. “Ben and I would appreciate the resources to look around, scope out the area.”

“And you’ll have it!” Todrick snapped his fingers and led the way. “Come, come! Satine, there is someone who is most eager to see you.”

As they started to walk off, Qui-Gon nudged her gently. “Quinn Jinn, really?”

She winced. “Sorry.”

Obi-Wan murmured his own new alias out loud. “Ben Kenobi.”

She smiled in good nature at him. “It’s like poetry.”

Any good will that the moment had brought her deflated into a pit of sadness when she stepped inside her old home. Of course, she’d never really thought of the palace as a home. The closest she came to that was her apartment on Coruscant. This was always… work.

Still, she had some pleasant memories in the hallowed halls. She used to slide down the bannister with her school friends and slide around on marble floors with socks on, racing her sister across the room.

“Satine?”

Her breath caught in her throat as she tilted her head back to gaze up the winding staircase and to the top to see Bo-Katan Kryze peering over at her. In spite of the tragedy that blanketed such a reunion, she still felt a burst of happiness explode somewhere within her at the sight of her very much alive hellion of a little sister.

She laughed breathlessly before meeting her halfway on the stairs. Bo dove into her arms just as she had when she was little. Now, the girl was 13 and almost the same height as Satine. Her hair was as red and unruly as every- likely a sign that she was still wrestling with the neighborhood boys. Her eyes still held that fiery passion in their viridian depths; a look that made her look very similar to their late father. She squeezed her sister tight, enjoying for a second a good reason to be home.

“You got shorter.” Bo muttered with a laugh, though it was evident she was emotional about Satine’s return too.

Satine reached out and placed a red tendrils behind her sister’s ear. “No, I believe you’ve grown. Also, you’ve got the high ground right now so I hardly call that fair.”

“Always so diplomatic.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess they did brainwash you a little on Coruscant, huh?”

“Not necessarily.” Satine said. “I could still beat you in a race.”

“Ha-ha. You wish. I’m faster than any of the boys at school now. I can even run in full gear.”

“Gear?”

“Yeah,” Bo smiled proudly. “I’ve joined up.”

“Joined… Up.” Satine trailed off as she realized what this meant before stepping back. “The military? You’re 13!”

“I’ll be 14 in a couple months.” She said as if that meant anything at all. Satine could feel the elation of the moment passing beneath her feet. Yes, this very much looked like the little girl that would knock on her door and ask to sleep with her until she stopped having bad dreams, but it was evident that the fighter in Bo took a strong stand.

“Yes…?”

“Father lowered the age restriction.” This was said with actual _pride_.

_“He what?”_

“We need warriors for our cause. To support you. The Absolutes want nothing short of stripping Mandalore of its tradition. They accused Father of being some kind of tyrannist for trying to ignite a siege of Taris.” She nodded with a grimace. “I’m not going to let anyone come for Mandalore. Not even those that claim to be our own.”

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that.” Satine said simply, because she felt sick. Her father lowered the military age restriction to _14 years old?_ And to what? Claim a few planets that they couldn’t in the ancient Mandalorian Civil Wars? She wouldn’t have even been legally allowed to be Duchess of Mandalore had she not been the legal age of 18. How did one justify sending children to die in war over allowing them to vote or run for office? Both were life changing and required research.

Bo placed her hands on Satine’s shoulders as if to steady them. “We’re gonna get him, Satine. I’m going to get him.”

Satine looked up at a grief-struck face for the first time in Bo’s eyes. What had she endured in her absence? What did she see? Why did she believe any of this was a sane call to action? How could she have gone so long without noticing how much had changed in her sister? It was difficult to tell over comms, she supposed, but she should have checked up more.

This was her first failure as a leader. It felt sealed with Bo’s arm around her shoulders as she led her the rest of the way upstairs, happily acting as though the war and tragedy that stained their family wasn’t resting heavily on Satine’s now-responsible shoulders.

“C’mon. They want to get you all girly-looking for your coronation. Then, you’re to make your address to the people, telling them to stick with us or stick it up their asses.”

“Bo!” She chided.

“Butts, whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “I forgot you were such a prude.”

She wasn’t. In fact, it wasn’t the cursing that got her, but the ease at which she was fine with cutting off the other half of their civilization. Satine wanted to band as many together as possible. She wanted to push the whole of Mandalore into a new tomorrow, where children wouldn’t have to fight their politician’s wars. She did not want to conquer more planets and grow an empire of their culture. She was under the impression that if half of the people felt they were being unheard, the violence would only get worse.

Before she knew it, she was in a flurry of droids trying on and off different things, everyone introducing themselves and expressing their excitement for her new rule. It seemed everyone had the unanimous opinion that exterminating half the population was the right call and that this war would only invigorate Mandalore.

It was as she mentioned to Obi-Wan. Obsession. They were obsessed with war and fighting, thinking that it would solve all their problems. She could read concern in the Jedi’s faces too. Any one of these people could have killed her father and likely for trying to start a mass genocide on one of their people.

_“No, Bo. I’m not a prude, because what the actual fuck is going on here?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Everybody's Changing by Keane
> 
> "You're aching, you're breaking  
> And I can see the pain in your eyes  
> Says everybody's changing  
> And I don't know why."


	5. An Unceremonious Coronation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satine Kryze, at long last, becomes Duchess of Mandalore.

Before officially being whisked into a fitting room, Bo and Satine came across a tall man with bronze skin and dark features leaning outside of the ornate doorway she knew to be the master bedroom. He appeared around 10 standard years her senior with a smile that looked like he was trying to sell her something.

“My lady,” He said, voice husky as he leaned down to place a kiss on her hand. Satine could feel the stares of her Jedi bodyguards burning into the back of her skull. The kiss _was_ a little long and gratuitous.

“He never calls me lady.” Bo rolled her eyes.

He winked at her in good fun. “You and I both know you’re no lady, Bo.”

She laughed at that and Satine felt like she’d been outside of the joke for too long to laugh. She knew this man and was briefly relieved to actually recognize someone by face, but unfortunately, seeing her childhood bully was not what she called a warm welcome.

“Petrik Saxon.” She addressed him politely.

He grinned, “I remember when you were just a little thing. Not as scrappy as your sister, but a biter all the same.”

Satine winced. She knew he meant that literally.

“What’s he talking about?” Bo asked.

“Nothing!” Satine said at the same time Petrik said “She bit my leg!” and the redhead cackled in laughter at her sister’s embarrassment.

“I was six.” She scowled, no matter how unbecoming it was for someone who was about to be Duchess in a few hours. “And you were taunting me.”

“What did I used to call you? Teeny Satine?”

Her scowl worsened and he softened. “Not so teeny anymore.”

That… Was difficult to read or really decipher, but it was no matter, because her sister was miles ahead of her.

“Trying to secure your spot on the throne, Saxon? I’d assume you’d be a little more subtle than that.”

A few of the guards chuckled along with Saxon while Satine faked her way around a laugh and exchanged a look with Qui-Gon to let him know that no, she was not comfortable with this sort of conversation.

The older Jedi stepped in. “I believe it’s time for the Duchess-to-be to get ready.”

Petrik offered him an appraised look, which required a full tilt of his head. He was tall, but not Qui-Gon Jinn tall. Given Petrik Saxon _was_ a typical Mandalorian man, he knew how to size someone up.

“Who’s this, ‘Tine?” He asked.

“I’m her bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” He huffed. “I don’t remember the Duke walking around with such an entourage.”

“Given the circumstances, I can’t say it’s unwarranted.” The larger man said sternly.

“Shouldn’t you be off warding away threats?” Petrik chuckled.

“I am.” Qui-Gon said in a tone that was very deep and intimidating. He took one step forward, which cause Petrik to back against the doorframe. He narrowed his eyes. “All kinds of threats.”

That, sufficiently, caused Petrik Saxon to wisely slither away. She gave him a look of gratitude and bit the inside of her cheek. They would not be around forever. She really needed to learn to handle herself in situations like this. Men had been trying to court her since she was 14. The reality of it all never struck her until now, was all. She was eighteen, officially of age, and a very eligible bachelorette. There was nothing legitimately wrong with Petrik’s interaction on the surface.

But, her Father just died and even Bo, albeit mostly joking, pointed out the callous nature of it.

She caught Obi-Wan shaking his head towards the direction Petrik walked in, clearly disgusted.

* * *

Satine had been twirled into something long, flowing, and heavy before the turn of the afternoon. She couldn’t breathe very easily, so that evidently meant it was fastened properly. She hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to look down at herself before her chin was leveled so they could work on her hair and threading it through the traditional headpiece of new leadership. The protocol droid that was doting on her reminded her of the nanny droids who essentially raised her- cold, strategic, and most of all, blunt.

“Don’t fidget lest you want one of these pins in your neck, dear.” B-4GO chided.

She bit back the urge to snap in retaliation that _no, she was not fidgeting._ Her hair just felt like it was being ripped from her head in a newly cultivated form of torture.

That felt a bit dramatic of a first impression, though, and it wasn’t the droid’s fault how it was programmed.

Instead, she released a calming breath and took advantage of this moment, which lacked the presence of sentient, _opinionated_ citizens of Mandalore. Obtaining information from droids required less tact.

“Tell me, B-4,” She began, trying to keep her head leveled so the droid could continue its work. “My sister mentioned something about an ‘Absolute’ party. No news of such a group ever reached the inner rim.”

“And it wouldn’t.” B-4 dismissed. “Mandalore has taken great pride in releasing limited information to the Republic- to stand on its own two feet.”

Those two feet were buckling under the weight of heady disagreement. What _did_ reach the inner rim was the knowledge that Mandalore had a vast incline of poverty, homelessness, and violence in the past year. The unemployment rate skyrocketed and many were turning to seedier alternatives to get food on the table.

She continued, trying to maintain a purely interested tone. She was to be the Duchess, after all. She needed to know what was going on with her people and what her family had to do with all of that. Her father had always been so vague in their correspondence and even her sister had never mentioned this zest for war when they’d talked. Apparently, Satine had just never asked the right questions.

“What do these Absolute’s stand for?”

“Well, they call themselves the "Vendetta" party. They’re against the efforts of expansion, of course.” B-4 said. “They believe the current economic state of the system could only be damaged by further expansion. More mouths to feed, as you might say.”

“Taris is a swamp planet.” She stated. “It’s not heavily populated.”

“Indeed, my lady! An easy conquest for our esteemed army.” B-4 chirped excitedly.

“Yes, but… Simply because we _could_ do something does not mean we should. Does that make sense?”

A long pause. “No ma’am.”

She released a breath. Why would her father, who’d never expressed any interest in expanding outside the Mandalorian terrain, suddenly want to take control over some heavily polluted planet whose people had been through hell and back as it was? There wasn’t even a speck of wealth on the planet, if that was something Adonai would have even been interested in, but he wasn’t. Or at least, she never took him to be. He’d always emphasized on the core values of appreciating what you had.

Then again, painting her father in a golden light only allowed her to ignore the more controversial tactics that she disagreed with. For one, he _did_ funnel a majority of taxpayer money into the military. Not the actual soldiers, but the big and expensive blasters and devices. He loved technology and moving forward, but not in the ways she felt were most fruitful.

“What does Taris have to offer from a beneficial standpoint?” She tried as though she was seriously considering this.

“It is not the planet, but the lack of respect they had for Duke Adonai’s kindness.”

“I’m not following.”

If droids could sigh, B-4 would have done it several times by now. “It costs more for Mandalore to maintain the peaceful trade than it does to simply rule and govern the system.”

Trade meant that Mandalore was receiving something in turn, did it not? She had many questions, but B-4 was not the right source for all of them. It was like asking a dictionary for deeper meaning. All it could offer was definitions.

“I guess I’m just a bit nervous.” She filled the silence with half-truths. “About deciding the fate of a civilization.”

“If you’re half as dedicated as your father, you’ll do just fine.”

She knotted her fists in her gown, feeling her fingernails dig into the thick fabric. “Why are they called Absolutes... Or the Vendetta?”

“They want nothing less than a complete eradication of tradition. Strength, assertiveness, brotherhood. Those things that most Mandalorians hold dear.”

“Have we attempted to assuage their worries?” 

“There is no negotiating with them, your highness, obviously.” B-4 stepped back to take a look at its handiwork. It seemed impressed even without being able to fully emote or have facial expressions. “They wanted to secede from the system.”

The hairstyle hurt around her ears, but it provided a good distraction for the bubbling anger that swelled in her throat.

“So, they just killed the Duke.” It didn’t make sense. Had they wanted secession; they could have just done so, right? They could have left. Mandalore was a creed, race, and system, but it was never a prison.

“And they will pay for their crimes! Oh, how I yearn to see that day. Now, they’ve done it. They’ve started a war!”

Violence for violence did not sit well with Satine.

“If I must say so myself, you look absolutely radiant. Much like your mother.”

“You knew my mother?” Satine questioned. She didn’t remember the droid being in her mother’s entourage.

“I’ve been programmed to know every single dignitary in Mandalorian history, my lady. Of course, I knew your mother in spirit.”

Ah, well, that wasn’t the same thing, but she didn’t have the heart to correct the excited droid, who was now going on about the gown that had been fastened for Satine’s mother the day of her Father’s coronation. It had been a peaceful transition of power, not tainted by the confusing turmoil of murder.

When she stepped outside of the fitting room, guards and members of her father’s (soon to be Satine’s) cabinet lined the golden walls in respect for her to walk down the aisle towards the balcony at the end. She tried her best to recognize those that had been in the palace before she’d left. Most had grown significantly from young men and women to full-fledged adults. Some had been friendly to her, most passive, but now all of them took complete interest in her every movement. The men’s eyes each roamed her figure in a way she tried to ignore while women narrowed their eyes in suspicion. They likely saw her mother in her too.

Everyone wanted to see her father and actually saw her mother, but Satine saw… Confusion. She steeled herself into the confidence she’d practiced on Coruscant. She’d felt it there in the senatorial chambers alongside fellow students. She was top of her class in public speaking and debate as well as maintained a level of poise where most could not.

But here, she felt they were not seeing her, but who they wanted her to be. She was actually relieved to meet the eyes of the Jedi. Qui-Gon offered her a kind smile, possibly acknowledging that he could see her discomfort. Or maybe it was sheer friendliness and she was overthinking everything. Obi-Wan’s look was serious as ever, but his eyes were bright. She didn’t know how to read them.

Once she was reigned Duchess of Mandalore, their duties would be fulfilled. They had ensured her safety and would surely leave first thing tomorrow.

When she winded the corner, she met Bo’s stare of admiration. She was in the armor she’d proclaimed to own earlier, perhaps as a show of support. It felt more like a painful reminder of what she was walking into: a war.

Prime Minister Todrick took her by the hand delicately, guiding her the rest of the way down the hall. They’d cut out a lot of the fluff that was usually associated with a transfer of power. Typically, there was a 3 day festival involved with music, dancing, eating, and pure celebration. Had this been a normal coronation, her father would have met her at the end of the line and would have carefully removed each piece of ancient poetry that was wrapped in his headpiece and slowly helped Satine cultivate her own.

They would not have time for such pleasantries now, plus it would feel hollow in meaning if Todrick was performing such an act.

“The legislator is ready with the declaration of war, your highness.” Todrick murmured, a soft wonder taking over his hushed voice. “Your first act as Duchess will be taking the first step in quashing a treasonous opposition that murdered your father.”

She released his hand when they stepped outside onto the balcony and a calm washed over her. Millions of people filled the streets whether in protest or support of the change of power. She couldn’t make out the words on their painted signs regardless and she didn’t try. Their shouts were loud and their cheers were heard, but Satine realized then and there that despite the mysterious shortcomings of her family, that she would give everything in her for these people.

Whether they loved or hated her, she was theirs, not the other way around. She would protect them fiercely as though they were her own, but she would always remind herself that they did not belong to her or owe her anything. She was humbled by it and did not hear any of the officiant’s actual words. Her confidence strengthened as her eyes drifted to the sky, scoping through the many buildings of Keldabe. It was so industrial in comparison to her birth city of Sundari, but it stood so strong with a moat surrounding it and atop of a granite hill. It dominated the planet in a sense, but not out of the violent nature her cabinet focused on, but of culture and creativity.

It came time for her to speak the rituals and she did not even need to think too deeply about them. She’d had them memorized when she was 7 years old after her mother died. Her father, locked in the throes of his own despair, reminded her that life was short and could take him sooner than expected. She took great care to have all of the rituals memorized frontwards and backwards.

She believed the audience clapped when she finished, but she didn’t take much notice. For the ceremonious speeches were officially over and it was traditionally the time to address her people- from the heart. She crumpled her original speech up earlier that morning. It didn’t feel genuine or truthful.

“People of Mandalore.” She heard her voice echo from the amplification device and she did everything in her power not waver. “I come to you all in a time of mourning- a mourning you no doubt exceed by the tenfold. Yes, my Father, the late Duke has passed to the aggressions of a violence we do not yet have fulfilled answers for, but Mandalore has been in the trenches of grief longer than the moment my Father’s blood was spilled.”

She felt Todrick stiffen at her side. Murmurs from behind her in the corridor of the palace did not throw her off track.

“We have lost our way.” She said firmly, “And convinced ourselves that bravery is defined by the harshness of our action when it has always been the strength of our resolve. I am young, yes, but I see through all of your eyes the potential we stand a chance at meeting. We are more than our past and I will not sign the declaration of war. Not against our fellow men; for doing so would be treasonous to the oath I swore to only minutes ago.”

“Ni swear at cabuor bal serve solus Manda'yaim ti an ner kar'am.” She quoted.

_I swear to protect and serve one Mandalore with all my breath._

“And that includes these so-called Absolutes.” She said. “We may be on opposite sides of the coin, but we must remember that we are still of the _same_ coin. I will protect one Mandalore. I will die for it if I have to, but I will not kill for it, because it cannot be our way any longer. Not if we want to survive.”

* * *

To say she was met with a mixed response when she returned to the interior of the palace was an understatement. She was officially the Duchess now, so no one was wholly comfortable in addressing Satine casually about their disagreement. This was a political faction and not a militant one, of course. Bo, especially, seemed rather conflicted.

There was still love and respect in her eyes, though, which was more than Satine could ask for. They could disagree, of course they could, but that didn’t have to make them enemies.

 _“Same coin.”_ She reminded herself.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan approached her first. Despite his clothes that portrayed him as anything but a Jedi, Qui-Gon bowed slightly in respect.

“Duchess.” He acknowledged.

She bowed in respect despite the quizzical looks it gave her. “I fear I may have just made more enemies than friends today.”

“That is the nature of politics, from my understanding.”

She chuckled sardonically. “Only time will tell, I suppose.”

“All we can do,” The older Jedi began sagely, “is listen.”

She nodded slowly, unsure what great wisdom was supposed to lie in such a simple phrase, but was already distracted by a more confused Obi-Wan.

“That wasn’t the speech you’d written.” He said.

“Yes, well- wait, how do you know that?” She furrowed her brow.

He flushed the barest hint of red at his Master’s own inquiring stare and cleared his throat. He clearly deduced that honesty was the best possible outcome.

“I overheard you. Space is quiet.” He shrugged, trying to play it off as smoothly as possible. In her biased opinion, he did not succeed, but she let him off easy with a scrutinizing look.

“Snooping aside,” She started. “I realized that the state of affairs here is much different than I thought.”

“Bad different?”

As several explosions rung outside the palace walls and in the streets of Keldabe, entrenching a beautiful day in a pit of smoke, she choked on whatever answer she was about to give him.

“Bad” felt like an understatement in the midst of all the shrill screams of horror and pain that suddenly filled the air. Many choked on the ash and rubble while others tried to scatter in any direction away from the terror. In the light of the raging fire that clung to the street, Satine could make out a distinct ‘V’ burned into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson
> 
> "Out of the darkness and into the sun  
> I won't forget all the ones that I love  
> I gotta take a risk, take a chance, make a change  
> And breakaway."


	6. Dancing in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of tragedy, celebration still occurs with only a few bumps in the road.

There were three fatal casualties to the attack at city square. Four were in critical condition and being treated directly within the palace per Duchess Satine’s direct orders. Some appeared to object as per security, but she raised the very crucial point that they would simply not make it to the hospital. Ten others were injured and awaiting care at the med-center downtown.

It always amazed Obi-Wan how quickly things could decompose after a tragedy. Even something as critical as a terrorist attack had its fallout. It was not all explosions and death, but the emotional betrayal that came with that. Clearly, this opposing party did not want any part of Satine’s joint Mandalore or her peace. Her own cabinet did not seem too fond of it either. He had his own doubts, of course, even if it wasn’t his place. The Jedi were peacekeepers of the galaxy, but peace was typically an ideal to strive for, not a method or tactic. Would everyone not simply choose peace if it were that easy?

Aside from her stern orders to get people medical care, the new Duchess of Mandalore had not said a word since the attack. Even hours later, as her council argued amongst themselves about the dastardly plot and how it was an example of why reason would simply not work with this ‘Vendetta’ group. He noticed that no one took care to mention their political faction name. He supposed ‘Vendetta’ sounded easier to hate.

To be fair, they were now officially at the very least suspects of terrorism, so Obi-Wan could see their duress.

He sensed great distress in the Duchess, as well as heartbreak and fear. She did a good enough job appearing unmoved by the disaster that happened just before her eyes. He doubted she’d ever seen anyone die so gruesomely before this day.

Her knuckles were white from where she clutched them at her side, but even in her stress, she turned to a younger girl beside her in concern, clearly checking to see if she was alright. The young girl was plucky with narrowed eyes and intently listened to Prime Minister Todrick’s report from the royal guard. Obi-Wan did not know who she was, but that it was evident Satine cared a great deal for her. There was obvious tension too, because this younger girl did not agree with her Duchess’s cry for peace.

Qui-Gon was also incredibly quiet during this dinner where no one actually bothered to touch their food. It was hard to imagine touching food after what they’d all bore witness to. His Master seemed serene and sympathetic as always- a feat Obi-Wan was never sure how he managed despite the stakes involved.

“Lieutenant Almec of the royal guard reports that the bombs were, in fact pre-placed.” Todrick said.

“How is that possible?” Petrik Saxon voiced. “Hadn’t they done a full area analysis prior to the speech?”

Despite his immediate dislike for the man, Obi-Wan had to wonder the same thing. Such precautions seemed obvious given the contentious state of the world.

“They did.” Todrick confirmed. “The bombs appeared to have traveled through the sewage systems below, triggered and timed to explode at an exact moment. When the guards performed the precautionary scan, they were simply not there. I have the results of their scans on hand if you wish to see them.”

Satine nodded and wordlessly accepted the datapad. Obi-Wan noticed she was careful to put the datapad in a view where at least Qui-Gon could view them beside her.

Todrick continued, “We are currently performing a complete analysis of the sewage pipes. We’ve got a droid sweeping to see if it can track the source or directions of the bombs, but so far they’ve come in all different locations.”

“So, we don’t even have a conclusive location from where they’re operating.” The young redhead said and leaned back in her seat. “We can’t even make an arrest. Is that what you’re telling me?”

Todrick sighed. “It is most unfortunate.”

“And what are we going to do about it? Just let them bomb us again? What if it gets the Duchess next time? We have to do something.”

“It clearly was not meant for me.” Satine finally spoke, voice cold. “This was a calculated stunt meant to prove a point. It was set into motion long in advance. The person responsible cares not for what I have to say. What point that is, I’m unsure, but we cannot make our decisions out of hate or fear. Especially when we do not have the full story.”

“It was a big V, Duchess.” Saxon said. “I’d say that’s pretty damning as to who we’re dealing with.”

“Maybe by reputation.” She returned, “But we must discover _who_ they are. Fighting shadows is only going to blind all of us.”

Others at the table mumbled in varying levels of agreement or disagreement. Obi-Wan watched his Master steadily, trying to read for any signs of his thoughts or opinions on the matter, but Qui-Gon remained firm. It was not their job to interfere in local politics, but a lot of things hadn’t been their ‘job’ over the years and that hadn’t stopped them before.

Besides, Obi-Wan found himself quite curious about the situation. Perhaps, it was his Master’s influence after all of these years of bending the Council’s wishes on behalf of the greater good.

“Surely, we know of public officials that support secession.” Satine said. “What of House Neo? It has been to my understanding that they’ve recently distanced themselves from the former Duke’s support.”

Obi-Wan had always been trained to observe and dissect conversations. It would be routine of Qui-Gon to ask him what he’d witnessed, which meant not only what he heard but what he felt and deduced. One interesting observation was the sheer fact that Duchess Satine had this curious tendency of referring to the late Adonai Kryze as anything except “father”. She’d mentioned it when she needed to, but most of the time, she listed his position first and foremost- as if that was truly all he was to her.

However, that assumption fell flat when he reached out with the force to garner her feelings towards the man. It was strange. Her heart had not stopped aching since the news had broken, but she clearly blamed him for something, thus complicating the already daunting process of grief.

No one else could sense feelings at this table aside from Qui-Gon and himself, and he doubted they took how she felt under much thought. In his experience, people tended to look inwards and if someone else’s exterior reactions did not match their guarded ones, they looked no further.

“House Neo would never make such an outwardly controversial stance. They proclaim to love Mandalore, even if not its leadership.” Petrik said.

“We all love Mandalore. We just have varying definitions of what it is we love about it. If House Neo feels the stance that leadership is taking is unconstitutional, then they will believe they are in the right.”

Todrick bit down on his lip. “We don’t yet know how long that bombing had been in place. The Duke was only killed a week or so ago.”

That was evident, because it seemed every time someone looked to the head of the table, they expected to see the former Duke as opposed to Satine. If the Duchess could not even bring together her own band of advisors, how was she to bring Mandalore together? It would be a difficult situation for a seasoned politician and all the more reason Obi-Wan preferred to stay out of politics.

“I would like to see House Neo as well as every major clan leader at my coronation ball.”

Silence.

“What?” The young redhead snapped. “That’s how we’re getting back at them? Inviting them over for a party?”

“I need to meet my constituents.” Satine reasoned, though there was clearly more to it than that.

“We need to track them down and get _even_ with them… Not… Not sit around and drink tea like we’ve got all the time in the world and like they hadn’t committed the ultimate form of treason.”

“We can only learn how to beat them if we pull them from the shadows.” Petrik said. “It’s not as easy as just bombing the countryside to see if we can nab them.”

“Surely, that’s where they’re hiding.” The girl grumbled and crossed her arms in displeasure.

“I want no… ‘nabbing’ at this event.” Satine ordered sternly and met each of the deflated advisors, who all clearly wanted to take immediate physical action. “We need all the facts first and foremost and it is then we can decide what to do.”

“Adonai would never be so-” One man began rather hotly but was subsequently cut off by the Duchess’ icy stare.

“-Vigilant? Prudent? Judicious?” She said sharply. “Perhaps, we should start treating this situation with its own significance as opposed to looking back at past unrelated dealings. I’d imagine, that’s what they’d expect us to do.”

She wanted to change the world and she was starting from her own cabinet. Everybody else seemed to have this realization dawn on them as well, because they all sat back and exchanged admonished stares with one another. Surely, they believed that Satine’s tune on taking a drastic stand would change in the event of the bombing.

Obi-Wan glanced at his Master, who finally spared him a quick stare. He could tell just by the brief exchange that they were thinking the same thing: anyone at this table could be a threat to Satine.

* * *

Obi-Wan was utterly astounded by how quickly the Mandalorians were able to throw together an ornate ball. Sure, some of the décor was indubitably on retainer due to expecting a grand event, but they literally had an ice sculpture in the shape of Satine right down to her sharp cheekbones and the waves in her hair. It felt like a lot to sweep together in 24 hours, particularly after a devastating attack.

Typical mandate required he and Qui-Gon to stand outside her master bedroom while she and her B4 droid prepared her attire for the evening. However, when her advisors cleared the area to hastily tend to the tassels that required hanging and the extra guests that needed invitations, she cracked open the door and peaked her face through the opening to motion them to enter.

The room was larger than any of the apartments that even the Jedi Masters were designated and was about 5 times larger than the little barracks provided to the Padawans. It was dark with plum-colored walls and a furniture that was a very dark gray. The windows started at the top of the ceiling and dropped all the way to the floor, but they did not open and were also shrouded by the magnificent curtains that mostly obscured any moonlight.

Even what illumination that was provided by the lamps in each corner of the room and the gaudy chandelier in the center of the room was subdued.

Satine was wrapped in a silk robe, though her hair and makeup had already been completed when she beckoned them.

“Where’s your droid?” He asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I ripped a stitch in the dress _on purpose_ to finally get her out of here for a moment. She was completely capsized by it! I needed to convene with the two of you about my plan.”

“Your plan for us to vet out the politicians at this ball to see if we can figure out who the bombers are?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Not just the guests.” She said in a more hushed tone.

“Your own party.” Obi-Wan said firmly.

“Yes.” She admitted and bit her lip. “I’ve been thinking about the Duke’s murder more recently, particularly while getting ready in here earlier. There is no possible way that it was committed by an outsider.”

“Why?” Qui-Gon asked.

Satine calmly walked over to the window and tugged the curtain completely to the side. “There are electric currents that line the exterior frame of the window. Not only do they _not_ open, but it is physically impossible for someone to climb the exterior. And it’s constantly operating. It can only be shut off from inside the palace. A little switch that the Duke hid somewhere unbeknownst to even me.”

Qui-Gon walked over to confirm what the Duchess was saying and gave her a curious look. “And it had always been like this?”

Satine’s gaze turned dark. “It had been this way since I was very young.”

“So, your Father suspected an attempt on his life in the past.” Obi-Wan pressed, but the look Qui-Gon gave him suggested maybe he shouldn’t have.

“No.” Satine said firmly and then shook her head. “Not while I was present. Regardless, that’s not why they changed the windows. Nobody even knew it was done outside of our direct family as well as the contractors who took care of it. They made it appear like it was to be a cosmetic fix- new paint and storm protection, but there was more to it. The point, is that no one is supposed to know about this.”

Qui-Gon stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This means that it had to be an internal attack. Particularly since there was no sign of intrusion according to reports.”

“And would there happen to be any security footage at our disposal or is that just too easy?” Obi-Wan asked.

“There are zero cameras in this room.” She said with certainty. “Adonai was careful about his privacy, especially since my mother’s passing.”

She was definitely less formal when discussing her mother. Obi-Wan could sense the same rotation of conflicted emotions rise within her when the subject came up. She was exceptional at shoving them back before they bubbled to the surface. Had he not been force-sensitive, he never would have known it bothered her.

“But I presume the public knows nothing of this. One would assume a Mandalorian royal palace would be littered in security measures of all kinds.”

“Exactly.” She said. “Trouble is, there are armed guards outside the door every night so unless there is some secret hatch I’m unaware of, I do not know how anyone would have gotten inside. Of course, unless the guard is implicated in all of this…”

“Let’s not allow paranoia to set in.” Qui-Gon said and that seemed to placate the Duchess a tad. “I believe your assumptions that this is internal are not unfounded, and please do not take offense to this when I say it, but whoever wanted to kill your father, clearly wanted you to be in the position of Duchess. And based on what I’ve observed earlier, I cannot tell why any of them would believe that as their best interest.”

If she was upset by what he said, she did not express it. Instead, she seemed to thoroughly ponder the question at large, because it did pose a number of inconsistencies.

“They didn’t even know what your position on this budding war would be.” Obi-Wan said. “We were in the room when everyone heard your speech and trust me, no one seemed elated.”

“Did you use your force sensitivity to make such a deduction or did you use your eyes and ears as I did for the past few hours?” She bristled, “Me having my work cut out for me aside, this is the very reason I need the both of you on the floor tonight. My supposed allies believe my main concern is an outside attack and they need to continue thinking that.”

“We will divide and conquer if you so please, my lady, but I do not believe that simply because the bombing was not directed specifically with you in mind that you are entirely safe.” Qui-Gon said.

“I do not expect I will ever be.” She said simply. “We will remain in close-enough contact to assuage any fears. Everything will be fairly open and public. I would appreciate it if you could actually fulfil the part of your cover stories and serve as bodyguards this evening.”

It definitely felt beneath their paygrade, but then again, Jedi were never actually paid.

There was one detail that was lost on Obi-Wan. “On the floor?”

“The dancefloor.” She supplied with a sigh, because _obviously that was the logical conclusion to draw right now and anyone who thought otherwise was an idiot_. 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes this time and kept his tone perfectly neutral as his training encouraged him. “Is there any specific jig we should be doing for her highness?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Just keep in time and you’ll be fine.”

He could do that.

* * *

He _thought_ he could do that.

Growing up in the Jedi temple, Obi-Wan had learned many useful trades as a means of better understanding the galaxy. One of which, was dancing. All Jedi at some point or another in their young life were required to learn to dance. This was meant to be a foundation for how a Jedi was to move fluidly in battle. It established coordination, timing, and if there was a partner involved: trust.

He had gone through dozens of different styles of dance throughout his time as a youngling, but none had been as vigorous or ornate as that of the Mandalorian waltz. It involved several different dance partners- 1 man and 5 women, as well as spinning and dipping all of them in time without breaking step with the rest of the ballroom. It was not so much the fact that this dance seemed to go on for eternity or required catching and twirling many different partners lest you drop them, but the fact that he had to be negotiating while doing all of this.

He refused to complain or show any sign of struggle, though, because the Duchess was only a few feet away to the sideline, observing and chatting with her Prime Minister. He caught her stare a time or two and was either impressed or suspicious of his capabilities. He did not want to slip up or he’d never hear the end of it.

Qui-Gon, on the other hand, had become something of a magnet for the older female guests. One of which, he swore, tried to kiss his Master! Like anything else, he handled it with an ease and fluidity that Obi-Wan yearned to grasp. Because right now, he hated to admit that he was struggling.

None of these women seemed particularly interested in talking about Satine or the recent tragedy of the day before. They all appeared to be heavily intoxicated from the moment the ball had started and wanted nothing more than to gossip and dance.

He feared his back would be thrown out from how intensely Ryel, a noblewoman from Clan Wren, slung Obi-Wan about. If not for the force that grounded him and allowed him to sense her every move seconds before it happened, he might have face-planted by now.

“You’re quite the dancer, Ben.” Inga, Satine’s primary secretary, gushed. “Where do you come from?”

“Stewjon.” He said, which was true at the core. It had been his birth planet. “From a noble family of protectors.”

He quickly dodged the arm of another nearby group and caught Ryel the next second. He wondered if the ladies were too inebriated to notice the sweat that gathered at his temples.

“Protectors.” Another noblewoman named Kiernon smiled and fell dramatically into Obi-Wan’s arms. “So, _that’s_ why the Duchess outsourced. Lord knows she doesn’t trust her own people enough.”

He was getting somewhere. “Well, she was traveling off-world.”

“True enough, but why are you still here? Not that we don’t appreciate the company.”

“It is my duty to protect her highness and see that she is safe.” He said, but it was coming out slightly out of breath. He was a Jedi and maintained the appropriate level of fitness, but they had literally been rapidly moving and talking nonstop for over an hour.

“Based on yesterday, I can’t blame him for sticking around.” Inga said. “The Duchess is very uncertain about how things have been going here. She didn’t exactly make friends with her speech against her own Father’s wishes.”

This was all very obvious, but Obi-Wan had to ask, “Excuse me if I am speaking out of turn, but what benefit does going to war have in this predicament?”

All five women laughed.

“Mandalore _thrives_ on war. The stock market, corporations, jobs, the hope of our people. All of it! Duke Adonai knew that, because he lived and breathed Mandalore. May the man rest in peace.” Kiernon said.

None of this provided much clarity as to who in the blazes would want Satine to rise to power. If the former Duke was so hellbent on taking his planet to war and these ladies were correct in saying that was what his supporters wanted, why would any of them want him dead? Then again, what the Duchess had mentioned earlier about it being an interior attack certainly suggested that perhaps not everyone was forthcoming about their intentions.

Thankfully, for Obi-Wan, the band finally switched to a different song and the five women each bid him adieu with a kiss on the cheek.

He made a move to walk towards his Master as everyone clapped to celebrate the conclusion of the grandiose tune, but before he knew it, another began, and everyone paired up. He found himself in front of a rather busty young woman, who wore a glittering scarlet ballgown that had a large promiscuous v-neck that dropped all the way down to her stomach.

Her eyes were a rich brown and matched her hair in color, but held a certain vigor to them that she clearly wanted to appear intimidating. It was one he noticed in both males and females here on Mandalore. Each stuck their chin out and squared their shoulders as though they were always prepared for a skirmish.

“I want you, _aruetii_.”

He did not know what that meant, but her tone was severe. Before the ball, he’d done some research on Mandalorian event customs and evidently it was incredibly insulting to deny a woman a dance after the music had already started. So, he went with it and was just glad there was only one of them this time.

Over her shoulder, he could Satine, who somehow got whisked into the arms of that Petrik bloke. He had half a mind to interrupt that wreckage of a pairing, but his direction was quickly and forcefully brought back to the woman in his arms. She still gripped his face intensely after steering him forward. Their noses were almost touching and he could see every shade of brown in her eyes, but more importantly, determination. Despite customs, it was obvious she was leading this tango.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore a beautiful woman?” She asked.

“Is that what it appeared I was doing?” He replied smoothly. “My apologies, my dear. I was simply trying to remain in time with everyone else.”

“Focus on yourself and you’ll do fine, _di’kut_.”

He’d heard Satine speak bits of Mando’a every now and then, namely in her speech to the public, but she didn’t have as strong an accent as this young woman in front of him.

“It is difficult to focus with such a lovely dance partner.” He countered, which seemed to appease her a bit. “And you are?”

“Beatrice Vizsla. House Viszla.”

“Ah, yes, one of the other larger factions of Mandalorian society.” He nodded.

“An often ignored faction.” She muttered. “Not for long.”

“Oh no?” Obi-Wan asked and spun her as the rest of the room had done.

“Do you not have eyes? Because it won’t be long before we have a Duke consort of a Saxon. If they want to maintain civility, that is.”

The Saxon’s were in House Viszla.

Petrik Saxon had clearly left the room, but when Obi-Wan spun Beatrice around again, he was able to catch that Qui-Gon was now dancing with Satine and felt relief rush through him. This Beatrice was likely trying to distract him from something, but at least Qui-Gon could not be moved.

“She could use all the help she can get.” He said quickly.

Her smile was wicked. “And what of you?”

“I’m Ben.” He said with ease. “I’m not from here. I feel no such loyalty to the crown.”

It felt like a suitable answer if he wanted Beatrice to open up to him more. Her eyebrows shot to her hairline, but she never broke their rhythm.

“Oh no?”

“No.” He said with ease. “I’ll do the job I was hired for and that’s it.”

She clutched him impossibly tighter- much closer than any of the other dancers. Her arm was looped over his shoulders and their fronts were completely pressed together.

“Tell me, Ben.” She leaned close to him. He could smell the copious amounts of alcohol on her breath. “Is that a lightsaber in your pocket or are you just excited to see me?”

Obi-Wan felt like he’d been dropped on his head and spun around, because for one thing, yes that absolutely was his lightsaber, but another… What the _hell_ was he supposed to say to that?

“You- You are quite lovely.” He spluttered and felt his face turning the same color as her dress, which did not help matters at all.

“Correct answer. You’ll do just fine. Not bad for a _jaal nut kovid_.”

Before he could have much say in the matter, the woman had both arms around his neck and smashed her mouth to his so hard he might have feared he broke a tooth. With eyes wide open in shock (and a little bit of pain), he stood there completely motionless, which caused another couple to bump into them.

After a second too long, he finally got the sensibility to gently separate them. When he looked to his right, he noticed none other than Satine Kryze, who stood there with arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. Despite the regality of her appearance, she looked just about ready to punt Beatrice Viszla out the nearest airlock.

“Oh, Duchess!” Beatrice beamed. “I was just introducing myself to Ben.”

“Yes, I see that.” Her glare met Obi-Wan as though she’d just noticed he was there. “Mind if I cut in?”

Beatrice did seem to mind that quite a bit and looked at Obi-Wan expectedly. When it became obvious that he was not going to step in against his charge. She cocked an eyebrow and recovered her own composure.

“But of course. What the Duchess wants, the Duchess gets. I’ll see you after you’re off the clock, Ben. I’ll make it worth your time.”

She winked at him before shooting Satine another glare. Obi-Wan realized the other couples around them resumed dancing to a different song. This one was no doubt a slow love song- something to sway to in a more languid fashion that required less intricate choreography. There was something inherently sad about the words or perhaps in the way the singer presented them. It was beautiful, but in the way an opera was beautiful. It resonated like an odd combination of tragic and hopeful.

He bowed slightly before extending a hand to Satine, which she accepted. He simply wrapped an arm around her waist, so his hand was splayed at the middle of her back- friendly enough not to be rigid or taken as insulting and distanced enough to be appropriate. When he pulled her closer so they could begin to dance, she looked down in confusion and back up to his face.

“It’s my lightsaber!” He whispered defensively. “These black guard uniforms don’t have interior pockets.”

She nodded slowly as though she didn’t fully believe him and carefully wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and they swayed in silence for a bit, looking everywhere but at each other. Her gaze focused on where Beatrice had gone, which incidentally was back with that redhaired young girl that often trailed after Satine. That seemed to boil her blood further.

Obi-Wan opted to keep things light. “I don’t usually kiss and tell, but I think she might have bitten me.”

She snorted, which was the closest he’d ever come to making her laugh. “Yes, your Master suggested I come over and save you.”

“Thank you.” He said honestly.

She reached out and wiped lipstick off his face with her thumb. “You’re not very much good to me if you die from suffocating against her tongue. Besides, Qui-Gon is far too tall of a dance partner. I felt like my neck was going to snap if I had to gaze up at him for another moment.”

This time, it was Obi-Wan’s turn to smirk. “Even I have some pros to outweigh my cons.”

“Yes,” She said quietly. “It would seem that you do. Like dancing.”

“One of the many secrets to battle is becoming quick on your feet.” He shrugged. “A common Jedi practice.”

“Hard to imagine something as artistic as dance being relayed as a deadly battle strategy.” She said, “Then again, I never much cared for dance either, but that’s unrelated to the weapon you allegedly have in your pocket.”

“I could prove it to you.”

She shook her head dismissively. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“If you insist.” He said. “Did Petrik Saxon have anything valuable to contribute or was he as engrossed in the liberation of alcohol as everyone else here seems to be?”

She sighed, “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He’s always been so much older than me, not to mention the fact that he’s never been particularly kind until now.”

“When he clearly wants something from you.” Obi-Wan finished.

She flushed. “I know.”

“Despite the fact that my time with Ms. Viszla was very… Forward, I must admit she has helped me develop a theory.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’ve talked to almost everyone here, Duchess.” He said. “You’ve stirred a lot of pots.”

She gave him a warning look. “Yes, we’ve been over this.”

“The only people in this room that stand to gain anything from your rise to power is Clan Saxon of House Viszla.”

As the music continued on and Obi-Wan led them around the dancefloor, Satine contemplated what that would mean and seemed to grow angrier by the second by it. He could understand how. If it were true, Petrik ordered her father to be murdered simply because he felt he would be able to manipulate Satine into making Mandalore what he wanted. And why? Because he was older and that was supposed to make him smarter? Obi-Wan thought pacifism was idealistic at best in terms of a complete solution, but he never took Satine for a fool.

She never tightened her grip on Obi-Wan nor did she lose her balance or sense of timing. He may have been dancing with the most important person in the room, but he felt much less pressure on him. When you had a capable and focused partner, it was easier to follow. It felt as though the Duchess’s moves were an extension of his own.

“Credit for your thoughts?” He urged.

“He asked me to marry him.” She said through blazing eyes. “Just now. Here. At my coronation banquet in the wake of a tragedy. Something about how I deserved someone strong by my side.”

He did not know what to say except, “Where is he now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Look After You by the Fray
> 
> "When I'm losing my control, the city spins around  
> You're the only one who knows, you slow it down."


End file.
